The leaves have begun their descent to the ground

they paint the aging concrete with strokes of

rust and sunset orange

The autumn wind whispers a sinister message

It warns of decay and ruin

of a cruel and cold dictator

armed with weapons of snow and ice

But the household fires warm me

they remind me of evenings at home

wrapped in a comfortable blanket

they lull me to a satisfied slumber each night

and breathe life into me each morning

As the eastern sun ascends

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